The Mansion of Despair
by fullmoon'11
Summary: This, as Hetaoni fans can tell from the title, is about the sufferings of the countries when they are trapped in the mansion. This is a DRABBLE FIC, meaning that chapters can range anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand words. Rated T for major character death (over and over), blood and gore, swear words... Steve.
1. Failure

Today marks the beginning of my Hetaoni drabble fic, where I post everything from one-shots to small musings. Most depressing, some neutral, maybe a few happy ones.

**Title:** Memories

**Author:** fullmoon'11

**Warning: **blood and gore (Hetaoni, of course), major character death over and over

**Pairings: **None

**Summary:** Italy recalls the past timelines (all in which they failed) and discovers that this is yet another failed one.

* * *

_"No, Germany, NO!"_

Italy woke up slowly, the echoes of his cry fading as he blinked away the sleepiness. "Where am I?" he mumbled, his eyes squinting against the bright white light from the ceiling lights.

He sat up slowly. He was in a bed, he noticed. It looked as if he had had a nightmare, since the sheets were all mussed around him… that is, if he still dreamed.

"Germany? Japan?"

No one answered. Oh, right. He was in the safe room of the mansion. They were probably out searching for the key….

The key!

It was past the room with the clock drawn on the floor in blood, past the room with the cell and the numbers from the floor to the ceiling, in the room past that. The room itself was unremarkable; what it contained was vital. In that room was the key.

But before then, there were all those rooms to go through. It had taken them quite a few timelines just to get into the annex without dying.

A memory rose, unbidden, into his mind.

_America stood in front of the monster, his blue eyes defiant as he protected his older brother, England._

_"Haha! I will defeat you, monster!"_

_Or wait. Was it England standing over a fallen America, his green eyes bright with unshed tears as he attacked the monster with a complex spell, America calling out weakly to not use it?_

_"Sectumsempra!" and a gunshot._

_Italy watched in horror as England – or was that America? – fell slowly, body arcing gracefully through the air. The other one raced to the fallen one, sobbing. Now he could see better… it was England on the floor, with America kneeling beside him._

_England and America were joined by France and Canada. Canada clutched his polar bear, the right side of his face splattered with red blood. Italy heaved a sigh as he saw it wasn't the Canadian's own. Then he stiffened. France was kneeling next to Canada, his blue eyes watery as he softly soothed a thrashing England. America stood in the background, his back to the three, one hand holding a pistol. His left hand hung limply by his side, his elbow bent at an unnatural angle. A pool of blood spread on the ground._

_The left side of England's face was marred with scratches, as if a giant claw had raked down it a few times. His once soft hair was matted with dried blood, definitely his own. His left eye was gone, gouged out by a particularly deep scratch. His remaining eye was closed. A trail of blood dribbled down the left side of his face. There was a nasty cut on the back of his leg which was still bleeding sluggishly, but the injury wasn't major. He clutched a brown tome in his right hand, of which the front page was splattered with bloodstains and the rest ruffled and dog-eared. His left ankle was twisted… the bone was probably dislocated. Italy swallowed the bile rising in his throat._

_Italy's searching eyes finally found the source of the blood. It was a stab wound directly below his heart. England's thrashing grew quieter as he lost more blood. America turned around as soon as he deemed the room was safe._

_England was still, then he opened his mouth and started to speak._

_"Ah… I know I'm dying. It's too late… So before I die, I should leave a few words for you all. It's only polite to do so, after all…" England chuckled before coughing harshly. He wiped at his mouth, and lowered his hand, bright with smears of blood._

_"So, first is the frog. You know, I never really hated you… After all, you were the one who saved me from my older brothers when I was younger. So I just wanted to say… thank you for everything you've done. When you get out, make sure my brothers don't mourn too much."_

_As France looked on sadly, England's gaze flicked to Canada._

_"Matthew… I don't really know how to say this, but I've always been proud of you, even if I've often overlooked you. I'll miss you, dear boy."_

_Canada laughed despite his tears. "I'll miss you too, England – no, brother."_

_England turned his eyes to America._

_"Alfred…"_

_America swallowed._

_"I don't blame you for your revolution. After all, I had been expecting it, although my king probably did go overboard with it. I've always regretted my decision, but it was too late."_

_America sniffled._

_ "I should have said this a long time ago, but… I'm sorry, Alfred."_

_America only nodded before moving to hold England's hand in his own large hand._

_"Goodbye…"_

_England's hand went limp._

Italy gasped. Even though that timeline was long past, he hadn't thought that he would remember it.

"Ve~! My memories really are coming back!" he cried rather happily, despite the fact that the memory itself was painful.

No one answered.

"Right! Everyone must be out searching! I have to go help them search!"

First, he decided, he would check the key room.

But the key room… Where was it?

_Italy rushed into the room._

_"Ve! The key for the front door!"_

_He rushed and grabbed the large iron key that was flecked with bits of what looked like rust._

_"Germany, Prussia, Canada, I have the key!" he shouted triumphantly. "We can get out now!"_

_He stepped back into the room with numbers on the walls. Where were they?_

_His eyes searched the room. There were a few streaks of red on the wall, and bits of flesh here and there. So the monster was made of blood and bone as well, from what he could tell. The bits on the wall didn't look like they belonged to any human or nation._

_"Canada?"_

_Silence._

_"Prussia?"_

_No one replied._

_"Germany?"_

_The room was silent save for the odd creaking noise the mansion made._

_A glint of silver caught his attention. Was that Prussia's iron cross in the corner of the room? _

_He picked it up. Yes, it was his cross… so that meant… Prussia was gone. Prussia would never let go of his cross willingly. Italy turned green at the idea._

_"N-no, it can't be! We were all going to get out in the end! Everyone else is safe!"_

_He was so preoccupied with the idea that he didn't notice the large grey claw with fingers still dripping blood swinging down like a guillotine._

_"Italy! Run!"_

_"Ve?" he asked, startled by the fear he heard in that voice. That voice should not sound fearful… neither should it be screaming at him to run._

_Germany pushed him aside as the claw came down._

_Italy could only watch in horror as Germany was shredded by the monster, Germany tossing a small, metallic object at him, his blue eyes wild and panicked, before the grey claw came down and Germany was gone._

So that's where the pieces on the wall had come from, _he thought numbly. Italy looked down at himself. He was splattered in chunks of his friend._

_He retched, feeling the sour taste at the back of his throat rise, but nothing came out. He hadn't eaten since he had woken up. Black spots swam in his vision. His ears felt clogged with cotton, and he dimly registered that someone was screaming in the background._

**_"Germany!"_**

_Then he realized. The scream was coming out of his own mouth._

_Darkness covered the edge of his vision, and then he knew no more…_

Italy winced. That timeline had ended badly. He woke up in the safe room. Canada had brought him back as soon as he had found Italy kneeling there, his eyes seeing nothing as he clutched the two bloody crosses in his right hand, according to the journal. The key was nowhere to be found.

Soon after that, England had lost his sight, and America had died trying to protect Canada. Canada had lost an arm but had successfully escaped, and he and England stayed in the safe room while the others went out searching.

China's group returned without Russia and with bad news: they had discovered Spain's body. Italy's group lost Japan and found Romano's body. When they made it back to the safe room, they found that it wasn't as safe as they originally thought it was. The first sign that something was amiss was the fact that the door was dented and scratched.

They found the bodies of England and Canada in the room. England had written them a last note using a page from his bloody grimoire and his own blood. (Not that Italy needed it anyways… he knew. He always knew. The journal told him every time. It was both a blessing and a curse, in the form of one bloody, soiled, scuffed journal.)

The monster had dropped in from the ceiling, and Canada had been stabbed by a claw before England could get to him. England had overused his magic in killing the monster and setting up a spell to make the safe room safe again, but in doing so, he had lost his hold on the grimoire, the spell had finished but used too much energy. He paid the price with his life.

He could do without the memories of what happened next, but it came to him anyways…

_They were in the annex, trying to find a clue as to how to defeat the monster. Italy spotted a curious piece of paper stuffed between two pages of a dusty, dog-eared book that had a few suspicious drops of something dark on the leather front cover._

_He pulled the paper out, and began to read._

Dear Veneziano,

If you are reading this, then it means that I've died. Fuck. Then I've been too weak to fucking protect you and your fucking idiotic journal. Which also means that that fucking potato bastard's gone too, so you're alone. (Stupid potato bastard. I told him to protect you, but does he listen? No. He has to go play the fucking hero, just like burger bastard.) But since we're two halves of the same half-assed country, I know what you're going through. You don't have to hide it anymore, you fucking idiot. We all know how hard it is for you to see each and every one of us dying again and again. Last thing, smile, you fucking dolt. Or I'll come back from the dead and haunt you until you do.

From your fratello,

Romano

_Italy jumped as a crash was heard._

_He turned his head slowly._

_There stood another grey monster._

There go China and France_, he thought, his mind working in slow motion as he watched the monster, which was bigger than before, swipe at the two. They went flying and hit the wall, lying ominously still._

_"And then there was one," a voice whispered, and laughed sinisterly._

_Italy jumped. His comrades were all dead, weren't they? Why was he hearing voices? The grey monster seemed to smile gleefully at the desperate yet hopeful expression on his face. It looked into his eyes, and Italy immediately turned his head to the side to escape that dark gaze._

_A rustling noise caught his attention, and Italy stared at his journal as it began to glow. As if the paper was blown by the wind, the tattered book turned to the only page with writing._

_The same words on the same page in the same journal._

**_"Again?"_**

_"You can't defeat me!" Italy choked out at the monster. "You killed them all, again and again! Why didn't you kill me too, back then? Then I could be with them…"_

_Italy crumpled to the ground in a heap, crying for his lost comrades. The monster watched on with impassive eyes before disappearing._

_"Why did you pick me? It's all my fault! All my fault that Germany died, that Prussia died, that Japan had to suffer before dying, that England, the only one who could possibly have understood, died! That America died trying to protect Canada from something that I knew about!" He hiccupped, his emotions causing yet more tears to flow._

_Finally, he managed to swallow and say, "Yes, again."_

_Without having to say the prayer out loud, a bright light engulfed him._

The timeline after that… he really thought they had a chance to escape. They were so close, so agonizingly close.

_"The front door's open!"_

_Stunned silence greeted his words._

_"Really?" England's voice, which they hadn't heard in the two days since he'd lost his sight, rasped hopefully._

_"Yes."_

_They all sat there for a few moments more, just savoring the fact that they could escape. A beautiful smile split across the face of England, his sightless eyes almost glowing with happiness._

_"Well, what are you bloody gits waiting for?"_

_America ran laughing out the door, never looking back at the mansion in which they had suffered so much. Japan, China, and Russia followed suit. Germany and Prussia were close behind. Spain was tugging Romano, who was looking back at Veneziano, all the way behind Canada and England. He gestured for them to move._

_Canada gazed back at England, who was stumbling blindly about._

_"Here, take my hand."_

_England grasped his hand tentatively. Canada squeezed his hand comfortingly and guided England in the right direction._

_Italy brought up the rear, making sure that he would be the last one to exit the mansion._

_"Hey Mattie! Hurry up!"_

_"I'm coming, I'm coming!"_

_They were in the front hall… they were twenty steps away…_

_The door started to creak, and it began to close._

_"No," England heard Canada gasp._

_"What's wrong?"_

_Canada strengthened his grip on England and ran faster. As they neared, they saw America gesture frantically behind them. Canada turned around, and gasped. The monster was right behind them, the claw descending toward the group of three. Somehow, Italy dodged the attack._

_England wasn't so lucky._

_A scream, and a blank area in his memory._

_Then the awakening. Bodies all around him, blood splattered everywhere._

_The dreaded word._

**_"Again?"_**

_Italy cried. He didn't want to go through this again, to go through this pain and suffering yet again… but if he didn't, who would bring them back?_

_No one would. He was their only hope left._

_"…Yes."_

They had been so close that time, too.

"Ve…" he whispered sadly. He still remembered how the white walls had been splattered by crimson blood, how their dead eyes had stared at him accusingly. If only he hadn't brought them to this mansion…

Speaking of that, where was everyone? It had been quite a while since he had woken up. Italy gingerly climbed out of bed and quickly checked his body's condition. Only a few bruises and scrapes, nothing too serious. He opened the trapdoor, expecting to see the monster any minute now. He peered cautiously around. No grey head anywhere. He let out a sigh of relief.

He crept down the stairs, careful to not make any noise.

Where were they? The house was strangely silent. Well, not like it wasn't strangely silent all the time, but he didn't like this silence.

The silence suddenly seemed deafening and ominous, and his ears rang with the dead silence. He could hear his own heartbeat and the muffled sounds of his footsteps on the carpet.

Italy started singing to himself, and as he sang, he could feel a sense of longing wash over him.

_Marukaite chikyuu, marukaite chikyuu,_

_Marukaite chikyuu, boku Italia!_

Oh, what he would give to go back to those days before the mansion.

His right foot splashed in a puddle.

Wait… a puddle?

He looked down, and the blood drained from his face. It was a pool of rapidly spreading blood. This scenario… it looked like the one from the timeline a long, long time before, back in the first timeline.

_Japan had heard the gunshots, and he tugged at the lever in the piano room. The floor gave way beneath him, and he fell through a hole in the ceiling. He made a small noise of surprise before he landed, miraculously, on his feet, in the kitchen where he had found the plate shard._

_He glanced around the room cautiously. "Ah… Russia-san, America-kun, Canada-san… If you'll let me defeat this monster first, I'll answer all your questions later when we're in a safe place."_

_He slashed at the monster, acting more confidently that he felt. America gaped as he slashed cleanly at the monster. However, his mouth snapped closed as it slashed back with a greater amount of force. With one swipe, Japan flew across the room, bleeding heavily from three parallel gashed on his sword arm. His body cracked sickeningly as it smashed into the far wall. He slid to the bottom in an ungainly heap._

_"Japan, man, that was uncool!"_

_Japan didn't move._

_"Japan must be really tired, da?"_

_Japan lay on the ground in a crumpled heap._

_"Eh…. Japan?"_

_Japan gave no sign that he had heard him._

_A pool of blood began to spread. Japan's pure white uniform began to turn pink._

_Canada checked Japan. He straightened up grimly._

_"His pulse is faint, and his injuries are fairly serious… but they should be healing. However, they're not.__1__"_

_America stared at him in shock. Russia gazed questioningly at them, confusion clearly written in his purple eyes._

_Before any of them could react, a grey claw landed on Russia and crushed the large man's head into the floor effortlessly. He lay still… too still._

_"Gah!" America cried out in surprise._

_Canada flew across the room. He crashed into the wall, wincing as he felt two of his ribs crack upon impact. Across the room, America drew his pistol from the inner pocket of his bomber jacket and aimed at the monster, sliding into a practiced stance as fired._

_One shot, two… four… It had no effect on the monster._

_Dammit, he had used up the six cartridges in it! He cursed the uselessness of human weapons and flung it aside._

_America swore as he saw the claw descending. _

_He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable…_

_Then he felt himself being pushed out of the way._

_America looked around._

_"Mattie!"_

_Canada didn't look good. He lay on the ground where the monster's attack left him, his glasses cracked and two feet away from his outstretched hand, blue-violet eyes half closed, blood running out of the side of his mouth. The gash on the back of his head was bleeding heavily, staining the golden hair a rusty red._

_"Mattie, bro, talk to me! Don't sleep!"_

_"Eh… 'merica?"_

_"Yes, yes, I'm right here!"_

_"… it's… dark…" _

_"The lights are on!"_

_"can't… see… anything…" _

_"It's okay, lil' bro, you'll be okay!"_

_"…don't want to… to… die…"_

_America frowned. He thought countries couldn't die?_

_He was so intent on his brother that he didn't notice the grey claw hovering over his head._

_In another part of the mansion, Italy had decided to go searching for Japan. Where was he, anyways?_

_"Ve~, searching for Japan, searching for Japan," he said as he peeked into yet another room. Nope, no Japan here._

_He walked down the stairs. So far he had seen no one in this giant, scary house. Sure, his house back home was large too, but this one was too quiet. At home, he always had a grumpy Romano hanging around… if he was lucky, Germany would be there too, and Japan too, sometimes…_

_He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the strange smell in the air that increased in intensity as he approached the kitchen._

_He opened the door and his right foot landed in a puddle._

_He looked down._

_The floor was awash in blood._

_"Japan!"_

Italy shivered. He remembered the first time any of them had set foot in this cursed mansion. That was when they had found out that in this mansion, they were less that nations. They were the same as humans. Mortal. Able to die with one measly blow from a grey claw.

The fight had been over in a few minutes. No one was strong enough to defeat the monster that time, and he had barely escaped with his life and a strange journal which he had picked up.

**_"Again?"_**

_Italy nodded resolutely. He would get out of the mansion with his friends, no matter what._

_"Of course, ve!"_

It had only been the second timeline before his promise was broken.

_Italy smiled as he felt the first monster's presence disappear. However, his happiness was short-lived._

_A monster broke into the upstairs library where he had been hiding…_

_His friends found his mutilated body there a few hours later._

_England, who still retained a little bit of his magic, managed to get his hands on Italy's journal. He then activated the time travel spell and successfully transported them back to the time before they had left for the mansion, or so they said._

_He had failed. Again._

**_"Again?"_**

_"Yes, and this time, I WILL succeed!"_

The pool of blood came from behind the closed door. He tried it and grumbled when he found it was locked. He fumbled and accidentally dropped the key. He picked it up again and turned the lock.

The door swung open.

It was the room with the numbers painted in blood on the walls.

Except that wasn't the only blood.

Ah… his journal! So that's where it went!

It was lying on the floor, one corner dipped in the pool of blood that spread from a person lying face down on the ground.

Hmm… that figure… it looked familiar.

Suddenly, it struck him.

"Spain… nii-chan?"

What was big brother Spain doing here? How'd he get in?

If Spain was here, where was his brother? He was always with Spain…

His breath rattled harshly in his chest as the key turned in the lock. He swallowed, willing himself to ignore the panic rising like acid in his chest. The door creaked open slowly, too slowly for his liking.

He walked into the room and took a look around.

The first thing he noticed – the key was gone. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself, and was startled to find that his hand came away red. "No…" he whispered.

The room was bathed in blood, and there was a pile of bodies in the corner.

He ran towards the pile of bodies in the corner.

"N-no, it can't be…"

Romano's dead eyes stared glassily at him from the top of the pile, as if saying, "It was all your fault. All your fault."

It was all his fault that Romano was dead.

He screamed.

The journal flipped open.

**"Again?"**

He had failed them.

Yet again.

This made the 627th time.

"Yes."

He could only pray that the next time would be better.

So he closed his eyes and prayed.

Prayed that next time, they would be able to leave.

* * *

1: It is my theory, in this story at least, that injuries unrelated to the state of the country will heal at a superhuman speed. Therefore, the surprise that Japan's wounds weren't healing is normal.

So...

Thoughts? None? Some? Put them down in that nice review box they have.


	2. Angel of Death

**Title:** Angel of Death

**A/N: **Today we get some nice cracked! Italy~ (now I feel horrible... ;_;) Oh, and these stories, unless otherwise mentioned, have no connection to each other.

**Disclaimer:**and this applies everywhere. I don't own Hetalia. If I did... okay, yeah, I don't.

* * *

He stands in a pool of blood, his hands hanging limply at his sides. He, like the rest of the room and its occupants, are covered in splatters of the crimson liquid.

He is the only one standing, a solitary survivor in the midst of such bloodshed and destruction.

With those bloodstains on his face, he looks like an avenging angel (or a revengeful demon).

He smiles, a dark and grim uplifting of the corners of his mouth (a broken and twisted smirk).

He is the only one left alive yet again. How many times was that?

Too many to count.

Add one to that, he thought idly, rather amused by the random thought that had appeared in his head like he had one day on the lonely plain that later became Venice.

That was a few millennia ago, or so he thought. Nothing ever ran correctly in the mansion, and the only correct clock showed only hours, not days.

The memories from before he came here are impossibly blurred, his brother's smiling face (which he can only imagine; he has never seen Lovino smile like that) blurring with that of an older man's, both which looked remarkably like him; a mask-wearing man who looked like he had come straight from an opera (he forgets his name, but memories of a brightly-feathered bird rise unbidden); a teen with windswept hair and brilliant green eyes who looks so much like Antonio Fernandez Carriedo but cannot be him, because Antonio never smiles anymore; a person with wavy hair and blue eyes and a blue robe and matching hat (his mind hints that the name is "fratello", but he knows he only has one); a pair of cornflower blue eyes that haunt his dreams and he does not remember the name, only a faint emotion long gone, and which look remarkably like Ludwig's (but it cannot be, how can Ludwig be in his dreams when he is awake all the time).

He looks around him, his empty brown eyes taking in the carnage. Antonio, his trusty axe (a fine weapon, but not fast enough) useless now as his green eyes reflect only the ceiling above. Gilbert, awesome enough to draw his sword, but not awesome enough to use it. Francis, wavy hair matted with blood, sweat, and tears, elegant even in death as he gracefully lies there. Alfred, so young and full of life, but too obnoxious in the end, and far too persistent (it had taken far too long for him to fall). Ivan Braginsky (because he was scary enough to necessitate the use of his last name), lead pipe clutched close even as he succumbs slowly. Kiku, his once-glimmering katana blade clouded, like his emotionless eyes. Wang Yao, wok and panda with him even in death, his brown eyes closed in an eternal sleep. Arthur, blond hair drenched with the blood of his fallen foes and comrades alike, caught in the strangling hold of Death. Matthew, ghost-like and faint, half-hidden by the shadows of the corner he lies in. Lovino, with hand outstretched, a gruesome mockery of the living being he was just twenty minutes ago.

And finally, there is him. He is the sole actor in this play, the lone protagonist of this farce. He, who stands here, dreaming of days long past as his comrades lie sleeping forevermore, who stares down at them, feeling numb and empty.

His daggers are drawn, and they, like everything and everyone in the room, are splattered in blood. One drop runs down the length of the blade, and he watches it fall to the floor, mingling with the hundreds of thousands of other droplets.

His wounds are few, if any; he certainly caught them by surprise. He is surprised that it was over so quickly, that they reacted so slowly.

He is disappointed. The mansion should have made them more alert, more ready, more difficult (and thus more pleasurable) to kill.

It has done the opposite. They have become too trusting of their allies, too ready to swallow his lies whole, too ready to be fooled into thinking he was on their side.

He is not. He is not bound by any rules here, in this mansion where grey monsters run rampant and his comrades never survive. Because in this mansion, there are no rules.

It is kill or be killed, no matter by whom or what. And he is just another monster inside.

He grins lopsidedly.

* * *

Why, thank you, I know I'm cynical and rather cruel. I do like writing black humor. Or just dark stuff in general, though there may be fluff later. Today is a "dark Hetalia" day for me~


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